When we’re all at the table, Parker takes a seat next to me with his hand resting on my thigh.

“So, Parker, Aundrea tells us you two have been hanging out a lot.”

“Yes, sir.”

Parker addresses my dad so formally that I have to choke back a laugh.

Setting her pizza down, my mom speaks. “It’s good to know Aundrea is meeting new people. Her dad and I were so concerned she wouldn’t leave the house.”

Parker looks over at me. “Why wouldn’t you leave the house?”

Laughing, I say the first thing that comes to mind. “She’s only joking. You know … online classes, a house, bed, food. I have everything I need. Why leave?” I joke, looking at my parents. My eyes plead with them to drop it. My mom looks at me with confusion, then recognition. My dad looks at me with sadness. They both now know that I haven’t told Parker.

We finish our lunch laughing and talking about embarrassing family vacation stories. Parker watches me with interest the entire time, never taking his hands off me. Mom keeps gushing over how cute we are while Dad continues to stare Parker down.

Before saying our goodbyes, my mom tells Parker he should join us for dinner soon, which he happily accepts.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks me.

“No, sorry. I took some time off to spend with my parents. I’ll call you later?”

“Of course.” He pulls me into a hug. Releasing me, he hesitates, looking over at my parents. Running his finger gently along my lips, he whispers, “Goodbye, Aundrea.”

Chapter Sixteen

I’m sick. Not your normal, not-feeling-well sick. This is put-a-bullet-in-my-head-and-put-me-out-of-my-misery sick. I’ve never been so ill in my life. Nothing can or will ever compare to what I have been feeling. If this is dying, I want no part.

My dad has to carry me from my bed to the couch, or from the couch to the bathroom. I need my mom and Genna to assist me in going to the bathroom, which crushes me. I hate that I can’t even stand up from the toilet on my own.

I’ve been eating pain pills like candy, drinking water like it’s my last drop, and lying in bed or on the couch as if I were in a coma.

Everything hurts. My head, arms, legs, back, chest, throat—even my eyes. I can’t keep them open long enough to get a clear view of anything.

My mom and Genna baby me, which makes me snap at them. Even talking hurts. I shoo them away anytime they come near me, which makes my mom cry. I don’t mean to hurt her feelings, but I just need peace and quiet. Every noise, creak, or whisper hurts my ears.

It hurts physically and emotionally to have anyone touching, moving, or talking to me.

Parker calls three times. When I don’t answer, he starts texting.

Mr. Handsome: Is everything ok? You’re not answering.

Mr. Handsome: Aundrea?

Mr. Handsome: I’m not trying to sound like a stalker but you’re freaking me out. Call me.

Mr. Handsome: That’s it. I’m coming over.

It’s the last text that makes me call him.

“Aundrea?” He answers on the first ring.

“Hi.”

He sighs with relief into the phone. “What is going on? I’ve called and texted. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry. I haven’t been by my phone much with my parents here.”

“I understand. It’s just unusual that I haven’t heard from you. You sure you’re okay? You sound sad.”

I blink tears away. My chest hurts. I want to talk to him. To tell him. I hate that I’m withholding this from him. “I’m okay. I promise. As soon as my parents leave I’ll call you, okay? We can go out, or I can come over?”

“Yeah. Sure. Of course. Just … please text me. I don’t like worrying.”

“I will. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’ll talk to you soon?”

“Of course.”

After hanging up, I drop the phone next to me.

My dad calls Dr. Olson to get a refill on my pain medication and to ask if what I’m experiencing is normal. Just moving my arms feels as if my bones are breaking. She confirms that it’s the drugs. If need be, the next round in two weeks can get adjusted, but in the meantime I’m given a stronger pain medication, Dilaudid, along with more muscle relaxers.

By the third night, I lie awake in my bed from the tingling that has come back to my hands and feet. The pain has gotten a little better thanks to the medication, though now I’m considering taking something to help me sleep.

Reaching into my nightstand, I get a pain pill and swallow it down with water.

I picking up my phone and see that it’s 2:00 am. Still, I know Jean will answer. She always does.

“Dre? You okay?” She picks up on the second ring.

I haven’t cried from the pain yet, even though I’ve come close many times. I let a sniffle out into the phone, and I hear the rustling of sheets as she makes herself more comfortable in bed. “Talk to me. I’m here.”

“I …” I try to speak, but the lump in my throat stops all words from coming out.

“Shh.” Her voice is calming on the other end. She’s the only person I don’t get upset at for trying to calm me down. I think it’s because she’s the only one who really understands what I’m going through. I don’t want to be comforted. I want to let out my frustrations without someone taking it personally and running off to cry.

She won’t baby me.